Rock bottom
by Ceretis Paribus
Summary: Mustang never forgave himself for what happened in Ishiballah. The memories of it haunts him. Spoiler from episode 25. Very dark.


Guilt

A/N: contains spoilers from episode 25 and forward. Very angsty, very dark.

The feeling sorta just crept up on him. He hardly noticed it before he was in too deep and had to hit rock bottom before being able to rise again.

It was a feeling of extreme guilt that simply took over his entire being.

Initially he would try to bury himself in work, finishing everything that Lt. Hawkeye threw at him of paperwork and take on every little mission, no matter how unimportant it might have been.

Everything else but solitude.

The feeling was always strongest when he was alone.

He worked massively long hours and felt guilty because Lt. Hawkeye stayed with him as long as she could. It brought a bitter smile to his face knowing that he sacrificed her personal life as well. They had been over this a hundred times and she probably knew the symptoms by now. She would usually alert Hughes.

Hughes…

The poor bastard. His poor wife and their little girl he had left fatherless. He wondered now that Hughes weren't here anymore who would pick him off the ground, smack him around a bit, dust him off, and then put him back on his feet.

He knew Hawkeye hated seeing her superior officer in this condition. Then who was left? Havoc? Armstrong?

Hardly…

The Elric brothers? He knew he would never hear the end of it if Edward ever found him when he was at his worst.

Suddenly they were there again! Images of all the people he had killed in Ishballah flashed before his eye, the sound of gunfire so real that he actually pulled his gun, aiming into thin air.

It was all in his head he knew that! He knew that!

Yet every time he blinked, those people were there, pleading for their lives, begging him to spare them.

And the doctors…

The memory of them, desperately showing an image of their daughter to him, pleading on her behalf, is so very clear in his mind.

The gunshots are so loud and a pounding headache comes along with them.

Instinctively he reaches for the bottle of bourbon he always keeps in his drawer. He doesn't even bother finding a glass and drinks straight from the bottle.

He knows it a short term solution that doesn't solve anything, but he can't handle it. He just can't.

The guilt and the regrets are simply too much for him to handle and he chooses to drink himself to oblivion.

He always makes it to work the next day, somewhat hoping that tonight he will handle it better. This usually goes on for weeks.

He knows that Hawkeye knows what's happening judging by the inquiring looks she keeps sending him.

He can't focus on the paper work anymore. He can hardly do anything but to look out the window and let the memories consumes him.

His hands are shaking and he can't wait till the others go home.

Hawkeye scolds him for not finishing his work in time and put a gun to his head every now and again, threatening him with everything she can think off to get him to do his work.

He can feel her frustration, both with him and herself because she doesn't know how to handle the situation.

And it does take his mind of the murders for a little while.

Then follows the self hate.

Murders…

How could he sit in this office and enjoy the respect of someone like Hawkeye when he truly was a monster.

A monster…

Screams tear through his mind and he twitches involuntary. Never minding that his subordinates still was on duty and right in the next room he finds the bourbon and pours himself a large glass. He downs most of it and massages his fingers, trying to will the flashes away.

Sending his fingers through his jet black hair, he digs his nails into his scalp to see if pain can't drive them off.

But they seem undeterred. Wave upon wave of images, screams and the sensation of a blood spatter landing on his face washes in over him to the point where he can hardly breathe.

He stares wide eyed into the air, trying to see the room in front of him, but he sees nothing but Ishballan blood spilt by his own hand.

With one swift motion he pulls out his gun, cocks it and places the mouthing just underneath his chin.

He stops breathing.

But the images continue to flash before his eyes.

However, he does have the sense to forbid himself to do the act in his office right next to Hawkeye. He don't she would be able to cope with it.

Slowly he puts the gun back where it belongs and gets up. He puts his coat on and leaves, excusing himself.

On his way out he receives a few comments about how nice it must be to be colonel and to be able whenever one wishes to.

If only they knew what promotion really meant.

Hawkeye says nothing.

-

He wakes up on the floor in his apartment. He had apparently managed to drink himself unconscious.

He sits up and takes a swig of the bottle, whatever it is, to take the edge off the headache that's creeping up on him.

The images and flashes were still there, but they were hazy and most importantly; there were no more sound.

It was quiet…

However, the memories were quickly followed be something else.

Pathetic…

He really was pathetic, sitting on the floor of his apartment that smelled from not having been cleaned for weeks. He was surrounded by bottle of various sizes and colours and he couldn't help but to realize how much of a loser he was. He sobbed.

He needed him.

Hughes…

He had promised him that he always would be underneath him to help him rise higher. He just never realized Hughes could have meant from 6 feet under.

Dogs of the military need a master, right?

To think that he had the audacity to think that he could become that master, when he can't even pull himself off this damned floor.

He buried his face in his hands and groaned.

However, he couldn't let another city end up like Ishballah. He wouldn't. He just wouldn't.

Something was brewing in central and he couldn't quite get his head around what it was.

What kind of information had Hughes died for?

He took a few calming breaths and slowly got to his feet.


End file.
